She Was Bound
by Anne Tacey
Summary: A story about Erik in Persia.Note: This story is currently incomplete


**She Was Bound**  
by Anne Tacey

Her hands were individually bound to the wooden posts that were placed, roughly, five feet apart. The ropes that chafed into her wrists allowed little slack. And, as she kneeled on the ground with her arms spread wide, she reminded him of images of Christ on the cross. It was obvious that someone had already started on her. Her back was a mess with open wounds and welts. Scratches covered her arms and neck. And her hair, a bloody tangle, hung in front of her, covering her face and breasts. Soaking in her own vomit, tears and blood she looked broken. But he knew as she crouched there that this was not silent submission. She was calmly defiant.

When Erik had walked into the chamber he was thrown off guard by the sight he was presented with. It was not that the presence of blood and torture shocked him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. This dark room with it's chains and equipment excited him. He was a monster in this room, but excepted as one. Respected for the artful misery he could unleash upon the human race. He felt at home in this windowless room, like a god in his own kingdom. And, his victims screamed hymns to only him. So, it was not the condition of the victim that surprised him at all. What intrigued him was that she was a woman.

Erik had never been given a woman before. He knew that he should leave the chamber offended and in disgust. On the other hand, he longed to step forward and touch her, make her scream, beg, moan... But, his feet seemed rooted to the ground. No doubt if he stood there like this for much longer the guards behind him would recount to "O' Shadow of God" how he was struck dumb by a situation he was mentally unprepared for. Erik was not particularly concerned with what that god-forsaken woman thought of him. However, he was no fool. He knew the consequences of having a bad report. So, he shrugged off his cloak and handed it to the guard closest to him. Standing there, Erik felt like he had been immobile for a life time. But, the guards' perception was that Erik hadn't skipped a beat. They respected, feared and loathed him all at once.

Only a few steps lay between Erik and his victim. He crossed that space making less noise than a cat on the prowl. He stopped next to the post on her left. He lazily traced a hand down the rough wood until he reached the knot of rope. He tapped twice on the rope, sending a small tremor down to the woman's wrist. He smiled behind his black mask, thinking about how a spider sometimes toys with it's prey.

The vibration of the rope was enough to entice a quick intake of breath from the girl. Her shoulders tensed as she raised her head slowly. Erik knelt down to see her face. What he saw there should have melted his heart. And, for a moment it did. He saw pain, and hope in her eyes. Hope that he had come to free her. But, that moment was gone the instant she recognized the mask. Her soft eyes hardened to a look Erik was all to familiar with. A stubborn hate filled her pupils, and she shot him a look that silently dared him to do his worst.

The contrast that overcame this woman, this slave thrilled him. He knew just what to do with those pretty eyes. He knew just how to erase the memory of her hope from his own mind. Slowly, he reached up to his mask and began to lift it away from his face. Me moved closer to her, but before the mask was even halfway off, fear washed over her face and she let out a whimper. That was all it took. Rage overtook him as he slapped his mask back into place and stood up. In one quick motion he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled the victim to her feet.

She cried out as her muscles spasmed into use. She barely had time to focus before her face was drawn towards the mask. She gasped and attempted to step away, but his grip on her hair stood fast.

"It's a pity, my dear, that you find such fear in what's behind the mask. For, there are much worse things about me you should be afraid of."

He pushed her back with such force that she fell to her knees again. The pull of her binds as she fell forced one of her arms to pop out of socket and she cried out in pain. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to compose herself. She did not wish to give this monster the pleasure of knowing her discomfort. But, his threat continued to ring n her ears. Though cutting with malice, his voice was a pure as an angel's. The disharmony of that musical menace was enough to drive her mad.

She took a deep breath and looked up again. Erik was walking towards her. He must have taken off his shirt and gloves while she was regrouping because he was naked from the waist up. Looking at his tall, pale, skeletal figure she had do doubt that he was an Angel of Death. His black mask seem to float in front of his face and shine like obsidian. It was as though a fallen god had chose this moment in time to rise again. Knowing she was to be his sacrifice, she took another deep breath and swallowed it.

There was no point in praying for mercy. This god was unwavering in his convictions. She was so in awe of this morbid beast that she hardly took notice of the flogging whip in his hand. In fact, her mind barely even registered that he was holding anything until the first lash stung her back.

She exhaled audibly and gasped for breath. The flogging hurt, but it was a pain she had already been made to endure. She was almost thankful for the warm pain that spread across her back. It brought her back into focus. It made her remember she was herself and not a mind-numb slave to some demonic deity. She was about to laugh from pure relief when suddenly the handle of the whip was pressed across her throat.

She gagged. She struggled. She actually attempted to reach for her throat but, her injured arm was of no use. Even if it was, she was still bound and unable to protect herself. The whip got tighter on her neck and he lifted her up. She kicked with her feet and thrashed with her body. It seemed the harder and harder bucked the weaker she became. Finally, right when blessed unconsciousness was about to envelop her, she was dropped to the floor.

Coughing and hacking, her body convulsed violently. Her throat burned and her eyes watered. She would have rubbed her neck if she could. Hell, she would have curled up into a little ball and retreated to rocking back and forth in the corner if she could. But, she was bound and her wrists were now bleeding from the struggle. Relearning how to breath, she hated herself. She had allowed herself to panic. Tears of frustration and anger flowed freely down her cheeks. Her self loathing was so absolute that she didn't even stop crying when Erik placed his hands on her arm and shoulder. She continued to sob as Erik positioned himself next to her. And, only when he finally, violently relocated her shoulder did she scream.

This was the scream Erik had wanted to hear. It was full of pain, anguish and hate. But, unlike the rest of his tortures, this one had a beautiful feminine quality to it. It was almost like music, and it reverberated in the chamber like a finely trained opera singer.

Keeping hold of her, he placed his thumb into one of the fresher wounds at the base of her neck and pressed. She whimpered, but that wasn't want he wanted. He pulled her on her feet and, wrapping his hand around her neck and his arm around her waist, pressed into her back. Never had he ever had a woman against his bare skin. The hot blood from her shredded back smeared against his cold flesh and excited him. He pulled her tighter to him and could feel her pulse quicken in her neck as his other hand trailed up her body. She shivered as he cupped her breast and whispered into her ear, "Still afraid of what's under my mask?"

He pressed himself hard up against her so she could feel just how elated he was to be in this situation. They both knew this could be taken further. They both understood that this was excepted behavior when torturing a woman. Hell, it was even expected. Erik knew that it was his right as torturer to rape this woman in front of two witnessing guards. He rubbed his hand across her breasts and pinched on of her nipples so that she'd gasp. "This can all be over. Just say, 'Yes.'"

His cold hand continued to wander from one breast to the other, and his chest slid effortlessly along her crimson back as he shifted to look her in the fact. His mask came into view and she weakly protested, "No. No, please."

Furious, he let go and stepped around her, ducking under her ropes. He faced her, blood smeared across his chest. He seemed to pulse with an animal need and a human anger. Her saying, "No." hurt him, and he was saving himself from that pain with anger. Quickly he turned and reached an area of the chamber where branding irons were kept heated. He returned to her and wasted no time thrusting it into her face. Her skin sizzled and smoked. The foul stench of burning flesh filled the room. He pulled back only to lung again and mark one of her beautiful breasts.

The girl screamed, but didn't flail. She held tight to her ropes and willed herself not to struggle. She remained still as the hot iron fell to the ground and Erik turned, retrieving a fresh iron. Her body became covered with various designs, burned into her skin. She screamed and cried, but did not beg or struggle. This was a pain that was distant. It was too much like the whippings to affect her.

Seeing that this wasn't having much of an effect, Erik threw down the iron and reached for his knife. He rushed up to, as if to hug her with one arm. Wrapping his hand behind her he grabbed a fist full of the raw meat that was her back. She cried out and arched herself against him. If it had been a more private situation, it would have appeared that they were lovers. But, the knife in his hand proved they were not. Deliberately, he began slicking shallow cuts into her side, mimicking the ridges of her ribs. He continued to grab her back, causing her to moan and squirm against him.


End file.
